Credo: The First Class
One by one, 10 students drift in to the large, sun-drenched room, taking their places around an oval oak table. It’s the last day of the first week at Shuttlesworth Prep. For these incoming freshmen, the glue of new friendships hasn’t fully begun to hold, each student shadowed by their respective online and neighborhood reputations.
In reality, it is a room full of strangers.
As a bell rings, Fritz Wichterman rumbles in, a wise yet hung-over-looking man in his late 60’s, cradling books and papers against a moth-nibbled, brown wool sweater. Steps behind him strides Anita Stephens, a slightly younger, meticulously maintained woman in a brown tartan skirt and white button down, eager eyes moving from face to face, making mental first impressions that feel like they’ll inevitably come true.
Falling into an empty chair, the older man lets his stack of papers slide across the table in front of him. His co-teacher finds a chair across the table and delicately folds her hands in on the table front of her. They smile at each other, her with a slight cock of the head, him a sarcastic grin that introduces his yellowing teeth to the class.
In a voice seasoned by hand-rolled cigarettes and shots of Jim Beam, the man speaks.
“So…who here thinks the pope is a selfish ego-maniac? Raise your hand.”
Everyone in the room laughs, except for one young man, Rhys Jaques, who enthusiastically raises his hand.
The others stare at him, and, slowly, calculatingly, a few others raise their hands in agreement. Mr. Wichterman devilishly grins and rubs his hands together in anticipation of the oncoming brawl.
“So my little pessimists, you agree with the old farts like Plato, Socrates, and Hobbes, that people’s good behavior actually only exists for self-interest. That if no one could see what you’re doing, even the most ‘just’ man would be be utterly and honestly selfish.”
Rhys laughs to himself. “100%. We’re all assholes at our core.” He looks at Melange. “Even you, Princess Cares-A-Lot.”
Moans erupt and echo around the table, as hands rocket into the air.
What follows is the first 30 minutes of a measured, meticulous, eight month-long opening of minds, during which each student will come to know more about themselves, and the other nine people in this room, than they ever thought possible.
Who they hate and who they love.
Who’s a friend and who’s a fraud.
Who’s a closet narcissist and who’s in the closet.
Who’s medicated and who should be.
Who wishes they were never born, and who might end up dead.
And, no matter how heated arguments may get, no matter how many tears are shed, Mr. Wichterman will finish each class by having everyone shake hands with each other, yelling at them as they leave:
"We're all still alive, aren't we? Well, thank fucking God."
Credo On Social Media: Day One
The minute class is out, so are phones.
And with it, first impressions are aired in Facebook updates, tweets, Instagram stories, and TikTok testimonials.
And so begins the online life of Credo.
It being the first weekend of school, we watch as friendships form, and connections are made, both between each other, and the audience.
Credo On Social Media: Week One
A “Welcome Class of 2026!” dance on Saturday night only adds to the drama, as everyone starts to shed a layer of their protective skins and show who they truly are.
As the week progresses, each characters settle into their respective lives, their posts range from day to day dramas that get amplified by likes and shares, to original videos, songs, and screeds that bloom from the new world around them.
